A Personal Crisis
by Esther-Channah
Summary: Sometimes a writer's characters take on lives of their own... and they take issue with the way you've chosen to run theirs.


Although not directly referenced, I have to admit that Brooke Terry's "The Farm" was a key inspiration, here.

Disclaimer: DC owns everyone here but me and Nomore.

A/N: I use a few different posterID's depending on the forum (mainly because there are times when it's easier to create a new user ID than contact tech support, sometimes if your password fails). On the lists that I initially posted this piece, I go by Dragonbat.

A/N: If you haven't read DC's Sacrifice Arc, and two of my recent fics: "The Left Undone and the Left Behind", and "Locked Inside the Facade", you should still be able to follow, but you might not get the full effect.

This is fluff. If you share my brand of humour, there's a Spew warning. If you don't, this is just going to be painful. Sorry!

**A Personal Crisis**

Normally, when I have a headache, I'd rather sleep it off than take an aspirin. But tonight is one of those nights when the ideas come so thick and fast that I need to concentrate to get them all down on paper. I think of it like kernels in the popcorn popper. Once they get going, you'd better have a bowl ready, before it all hits the fan... er, floor. Maybe, it's because I'm concentrating on getting the Advil, that I fail to notice the shadow looming outside my window. The Bat-cowl-shaped shadow looming outside my window. No. Silly, clueless oblivious me trudges off down the hall. That's when I remember I didn't replace the rinsing cup, yet. Oh, well. The cap on the bottle of Scope will work just as well. And while I'm waiting for the painkiller to take effect, a bit of green tea sounds pretty good.

Hmm, I'm thinking, how would the JLA react if the DA's office throws the book at Batman? Would they suddenly be "too busy" to help? Nah, they're heroes. They--hold on. Why are there voices in my dining room? Hubby's at an OHL game with his boss--it's way too early for him to be home. I look around for something to use as a weapon. Whoever's in there will see me if I make a break for the front door. My eye falls on the bookcase. OK, what's big and heavy, there? _Complete Idiot's Guide to Crime Scene Investigations_? Paperback. Ditto, the _Narnia Omnibus_. Wait! _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince._ Perfect!

I tiptoe down the hall, book in hand. Three sets of eyes greet me. The oldest man is probably in his seventies, balding, and wearing a black jacket, white shirt, and grey pinstriped pants. The youngest is wearing a blue mask over a black and blue costume. He's fiddling with a pair of escrima sticks. As for the one in the middle wearing the yellow bat insignia and the cape and cowl... Yikes! That glare is worse than anything I could've imagined.

"What. Were. You. _Thinking_?" He rasps.

Honesty is the best policy, I always say. "Ummm... I was thinking about how many centuries you'd be facing if Akins ever caught you for real?" Okay. Maybe honesty _isn't_ always the best policy. I thought he was giving me the evil eye before. Eeep. "It wasn't MY fault. I asked a lawyer friend what kind of charges you'd be facing, and she came back with a longer list than I dreamed possible,and I just kinda went from there-I..." He waves me to silence.

"I am familiar with _that_ associate," he replies. "I'll deal with her another time. I was referring to what you did to Alfred."

Hunh? _Alfred_? I look at the elderly man on Batman's left. Before I can answer, Nightwing chimes in.

"Didn't you realize it wouldn't just hurt him? It would hurt _me_, too?"

Whaaa?

"Madam," (Oh, no! I left Montreal to get away from 'madame'...) Alfred looks at me. Why is there such confusion in his eyes? Such... pain? "Madam," he continues,"while I don't believe we've met before, I feel that I must inquire whether I have ever offended you in any way?"

Alfred? No! How can he... wait, that's not his fault, but "well, there's last month's _Gotham Knights_..."

Batman's hand comes down on my dining room table so loudly I jump. "You killed him _before_ you read that issue!"

I blink. "Wait. I killed _Alfred_? I love Alfred! I mean..." I turn around, embarassed, and look directly at the framed portrait of me and hubby at our wedding. Eeep. "I mean..."

Batman shoves a sheaf of papers in my face. I recognize the logo at the top. It looks like he printed it off the jlaunlimited fanfic site. This is probably the wrong time to ask whether he prefers the Catwoman or Wonder Woman romances... "You _are_ Dragonbat, correct?"

"Ye-yes. But I'll change it if you want me to..." Toast, I think. I'm about to become Toast.

"And you did write this... material?"

I look at the header. 'Locked Inside the Facade.' Showtune lyric for a Title. Definitely one of mine. Quoting _Jekyll and Hyde, Into the Woods... _my eyes skim the pages. On the second one, I stop. Whoa! I don't remember writing THAT! I couldn't have. I look up. "I killed Alfred?" I say in a small voice. "I... I..." My mind was working furiously. When I started that fic, I knew I would have to give  
Batman enough of a shock to his system that packing him off to Arkham would look like a natural normal thing to do. Killing Jason off again was a bonus restoration of the status quo, but if Batman didn't crack the first time, he'd probably weather it again. So yeah, I knew it would have to be major, but--

Why isn't the Advil kicking in? It's so hard to concentrate. What had I been thinking? Something about... if Batman were forced to take a life... "I thought I killed Darkseid!"

Suddenly Nightwing's hands are gripping my shoulders. "You" (shake) "thought" (shake) "you" (shake) "killed" (shake) "_Darkseid_?"

"Master Dick! Please! Compose yourself!"

Thank-you, Alfred. Dick looks a little embarassed as he lets go. He mumbles an apology.

I take a step backwards and almost trip on something small and fuzzy. Batman suddenly leans toward me. "What," he demands, "is _that_?"

I bend down to pick up the cute little thing. "This is Nomore," I say, cuddling the bunny closer.

"Nomore," Batman repeats, dangerously.

"Yes." And then, like the average Gotham stoolie come face to face with Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Scary, I start babbling like Kid Flash. "We took a drive out in the country, you see, and there were these bunny farms all around, and the prices were really reasonable. The breeder told me they really seem to help get the creative juices flowing for most writers, and I've hit such an impasse with the Psionverse lately, I was ready to try anything. My husband really didn't want any pets, you understand, but when I saw this little guy, he said okay, I could get this _one_, but _No More_." I pause for breath. "The name just sort of stuck," I finish lamely.

Batman and Nightwing exchange a long look. "This is starting to make sense," Dick says. He holds out his hands. "May I?"

I hand my smirking pet over to him. "Careful, don't let him dangle," I say. Not to worry. The critter practically oozes over to him and burrows into the crook of his elbow. Nightwing strokes him absently.

"Do you have the paperwork?" Batman asks me.

"Paperw-oh, you mean bill of sale, guarantee, that sort of thing?"

Batman nods. "I think it might be important."

OK. Never argue with a 6-foot bat. I pull out the documents. "See? Innovative Ideas Rabbit Farm. M. Lord, Proprietor" If anything, he looks even more forbidding than before. He takes the paper from my hand. "Did you read the small print," he demands, drawing my attention to a line of type I admit I missed. I read it now.

_'All bunnies trained by Maxwell Lord. Guaranteed to inspire flights of fancy and creativity as never before. Maxwell Lord's plot bunnies. You'll never know **what** possessed you.'_

I look from him to Alfred. "I really thought you were Darkseid," I manage to stammer.

Alfred, surprisingly, is the most relaxed of the three. "Not at all, Mistress Dragonbat. It was an easy mistake to make." Batman seems puzzled, and I have to admit I am too, a little. I glance down at my hardwood floor and notice that _somebody_ has tracked mud in from the balcony. Alfred follows my gaze. His eyes transfer over directly to the culprit. "Master Bruce, this will _never_ do," he exclaims. "Surely I raised you better than that. Fetch a broom, at _once_, Sir." Batman lowers his eyes and heads for my hall closet.

"After all," Alfred states, "Both Darkseid and I wield an immense amount of power."


End file.
